


If You Must Play

by slamncram



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And denial of said longing, Desk Sex, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Episode 100, Feelings, Longing, M/M, Mentions of the Archival Staff, terrible men in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slamncram/pseuds/slamncram
Summary: The promise of a wager was always enough to get Peter back from the Tundra. Not necessarily enough to keep him. That always asked for higher stakes.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 13
Kudos: 143





	If You Must Play

**Author's Note:**

> This is set following the end of MAG 100 ([transcript](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1JWysCq7XvkpVrNwmEuBFwy_ExF-czIgj/view))

Poor Brian Finlinson. The man had come to the Institute for help, had wound up with Melanie as his statement taker and then just, _poof_ , disappeared. All in all, not a great day for the poor man.

But that disappearance could only mean one thing.

Or, rather, one person.

Right on time, Rosie rang through to the phone sitting on his desk. Elias regarded the blinking red light for a moment, weighing the wisdom of making his appointment wait a few minutes.

It _would_ be worth it.

Unfortunately, and not that he would admit it, but he’d missed Peter. That meant he answered the phone after just a few rings.

“Yes, Rosie?”

“Your 3 o’clock is here, Mr. Bouchard. Mr. Lukas.”

Elias smiled, settling behind his desk.

“Yes. You can send him in. I’ve been expecting him.”

“Right away, Mr. Bouchard.”

Poor, sweet Rosie. She was such a kind, vapid girl. Wicked secretary, absolutely irreplaceable in that regard, but aside from a vague sense of power, she never seemed to clue in to the things that went on around her.

Hence, irreplaceable.

The office door opened no less than a minute later, Peter’s voice assuring Rosie he could see himself in, the same as he did every time. Elias _did_ need to give Rosie credit there; she recognized the name Lukas, and what it meant in regard to the Institute’s funding, and therefore _tried_ to treat Peter like the very important benefactor he was. In her eyes.

That wasn’t what today’s appointment was regarding, however.

Peter closed the door behind himself and Elias put his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the desk top. It was hardly the picture of the professional head of the Institute, but that was never what Peter expected from him.

“Elias.”

“Peter.”

How long had it been since the last time they’d seen each other? Eight months, give or take, by Elias’ reckoning. In that time, Peter must have given himself a haircut, judging by the uneven angle of his fringe. Even grown out, Elias could see it from where he was sitting. His beard looked no different, _that_ he could maintain on his own. He was still tall, still broad, and still giving Elias a look that sat midway between annoyance at being made to deal with more Institute staff than was strictly necessary and that funny, almost fond look he got after a long time away.

Not that _he_ would admit that any more than Elias would.

“Took a detour, did we?” Elias asked, waving at the chair across from his own. “That man was being tormented by the Web, I believe. You may have just stolen him right out from under the Mother of Puppets.”

Peter shrugged, dropping into the offered chair and setting his arms on the other side of the desk.

“The Spider should have kept him closer, then. Besides, he’d be happier in the Lonely. No spiders there to drive him to a panic attack.”

“Not much of anything,” Elias commented.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And you know that?”

Elias narrowed his eyes, lifting his head and setting both hands down on the desk. “Eight months away, and the first thing you do is try to press my buttons?”

Too late he thought about the implications of his choice of words. Peter had already heard them, though, and was grinning in an infuriating way.

“Now, dear, am I supposed to understand that, maybe, you missed me?”

The fact of the matter was that, no matter if Elias had missed Peter or not, Peter would never admit if _he_ had missed _Elias_. Something like that would only serve to make it seem like he _needed_ Elias. The One Alone simply didn’t mesh well with that sort of thing; not unless it served to create misery to feed into it. And for that to be the case, Peter wouldn’t need to say a damn word aloud.

“Am _I_ to understand that the only reason you’re here at all is because you can’t resist the draw of a wager?” Elias asked, rather than answering Peter’s question.

It was annoying to see by the glint in Peter’s eye that his non-answer was answer enough. They had known each other, been close, for far too long. He was beginning to be knowable to the other man. That wouldn’t do. Particularly if he wanted his machinations to pay off in the end.

“This wager of yours,” Peter said, pushing past the obstacle of Elias’ annoyance. “ _Any_ Institute employee?”

Oh, Peter. He could _so_ be counted on.

“Well, not _any_ employee. I think that’s far too big a pool to choose from. I’d rather we stick to the Archival staff. Not -” he held up a finger, holding back whatever question had been about to come out of Peter’s open mouth. “- My Archivist. Jon is off-limits. Any of the others, though, you can have.”

Across the desk, Peter ran a hand over his beard, clearly in thought about it.

“Tell me more about them.”

Anyone else may have thought that by asking that question, Peter was looking to know more about the Archival staff. He didn’t need to know their life stories. He only needed to know enough to know which ones might make a good project.

Elias understood that better than most.

“Tim Stoker. No alignment, that one, but angry. Bitter. The Stranger killed his brother, as well as one of the old assistants, Sasha James, and the Corruption marked him, and he’s lingering on all that anger more than necessary. Could make him a worthy target, but he’s not quick to trust any longer, so that might make him more of a project than you’d like.

“Basira Hussain. Former police. Mostly she’s simply my collateral to keep Detective Tonner under control. Speaking of which, I wouldn’t bother with Tonner. She’s more Hunt than woman. Lost cause.

“Then, of course, there’s Melanie King, an angry, distrustful pain in my arse who spends far too much time trying to kill me.”

Peter snorted. “Does she, now?”

The amusement was all too obvious in his tone. Elias gave him a flat look, crossing his arms.

“She does. You would be doing me a favour if you took her off my hands.” Not that she had fulfilled her usefulness when it came to preparing Jon, yet, but surely Elias could find another avatar of the Slaughter, couldn’t he?

“Well, in _that_ case, please give me my other options,” Peter said, pleasantly.

Elias sighed.

“That leaves Martin Blackwood. He’s... well,” Elias smirked. “He not much. Bit of a coward, rather incompetent. Ridiculously fraught relationship with his mother, absent father. Oh, and he has the most pathetic puppy dog crush on the Archivist.”

It was obvious, as he spoke, that Peter was understanding what Elias believed: for their wager, Martin would be the perfect candidate.

“The Jon issue is notable, however. Ever since Sasha, Jon seems to have this manic _need_ to protect his staff from harm. If you moved on Martin, he might get in the way.”

“Well, he is _your_ Archivist, dear,” Peter replied. “I would assume you would deal with him, keep him on task.”

Elias smiled.

“Perhaps. That would all depend. I’m taking a bit of a hands-off approach to Jon’s development.”

Peter nodded. Clearly, he had taken an affinity to the idea of Martin as his mark. That would, truly, work out best for what Elias needed in the end.

“You don’t need to decide right now, of course,” Elias continued. “As... time sensitive as _some_ things may be, I do believe Nikola Orsinov might be moving to become a more pressing issue for the Archivist at the moment.”

“Ah. You’re putting Orsinov above me in level of importance now? I never thought I’d see the day,” Peter’s eyes glinted, the prodding of his comment unfortunately _not_ lost on Elias. “I suppose I should be returning to the Tundra, then, if you’re choosing that mannequin freak over me.”

He made to stand, but before he’d gotten very far at all Elias was saying, quiet but firm, “sit down.”

For a brief, unexpectedly infuriating moment, Elias was sure Peter was going to continue like he hadn’t heard him. He did, however, sit himself back down, and Elias let out the breath he’d held, standing to move around the desk.

The chair Peter was sitting in was, really, just barely big enough for him, but Elias had been making room for himself in Peter’s space for long enough it had, very nearly, become second nature. One knee between both of Peter’s, an arm around his shoulders, and a hand on his jaw was all it took to anchor himself. Close enough to hear the obviously smug amusement in the way Peter exhaled, to see the way Peter’s eyes watched his face – amused, yes, but expectant.

Elias would _so_ love to deny him what he was expecting. It would be rather rewarding to be as terrible as he was often accused of being.

But it had been a long while since Elias had gotten to enjoy having Peter here, close enough to lean on.

Close enough to breathe in.

Close enough to kiss.

Gentle, at first. A barely there press of lips meant to goad Peter into more, and when he didn’t give in, Elias did. He kissed him deeper, hungrier, with a note of possessiveness he knew was ugly in a way neither of them would acknowledge.

It did the trick, got him the reaction he’d been looking for. Peter’s hands fell on his waist, pulled him closer, so the toe of his dress shoe, so valiantly keeping his balance for him, was no longer needed. Peter wasn’t about to let him go anywhere else. Not anywhere _he_ wasn’t going, in the very least.

Elias could never admit out loud how much he missed Peter when he was gone on the Tundra. It was a card he played close to his heart. It was a big, flashing red sign that read ‘ _weakness_ ’, and it would only serve him so far if he shared it. He’d gotten Peter to carry the damn cell phone. Wasn’t that enough?

No.

It never would be.

It would never replace the feeling of Peter pushing him off, just to knock him back on his own desk. It couldn’t stand up to the sound of their quiet laughter as Elias pulled Peter close, as Peter leaned over him. There was no way a cell phone could hope to live up to the way he, Elias, felt _breathless_ with this man.

He always left his schedule clear for the rest of the day following any of Peter’s visits. Once business was dealt with, _if_ it needed to be dealt with, Elias wanted nothing more than this. Nothing more than Peter undressing him, nothing more than being made to, very nearly, forget all his schemes, all his concerns, anything but Peter and how damn _good_ it was that he always thought to lock the office door behind him.

It always ended too soon for Elias. One moment he was raking nails over Peter’s broad shoulders, and the next he was working at fixing his hair, tripping heartbeat reminding him how _human_ his body was.

“I think I’ve made a decision.”

Elias looked over his shoulder, rebuttoning his dress shirt. Peter was sat in _his_ chair, already dressed, except for his jacket. That was spread across Elias’ desk, the contents of which, sparse though they’d been, were displaced now.

“And what’s that?” Elias asked, picking up the heavy woollen thing and holding it out for Peter to take.

Peter took it, pulling it on again. “Martin.”

As expected. That played perfectly into Elias’ plans. Martin was, of course, the obvious choice, but letting Peter move his game pieces for him was _just_ fine.

“Sounds like that’s decided, then.”

Peter nodded. Not for the first time since he’d been let up from the desk, Elias’ gaze was drawn to the fog swirling outside his office window, thick and a bit uncharacteristic for this late in May.

“I should be getting back to the Tundra.”

Peter was meeting his eyes, searching them, looking for the thing they both knew was there. The disappointment. The, loathsome as it was, _longing_ settling in.

He’d been gone for eight months. He’d only been here an hour.

Elias deserved his selfish wants. Perhaps not _all_ of them, but, surely, this one.

“Suppose you should.”

Peter sighed.

“You _can_ ask.”

Elias laughed, short and joyless, looking back at the fog. “You wouldn’t. You’ve mentioned that damn ship twice, now. They’re expecting their captain by sundown, I’m _sure_.”

Unexpected, Peter touched his chin, guiding him to look his way again.

“But you could ask.”

There was something in Peter eyes. For a second, Elias thought that, whatever it was, it was telling him that if he asked, he would get the answer he wanted. Peter would stay, even if just for the night.

But, instead...

Elias sighed and pulled Peter in by the unbuttoned sides of his jacket. When he kissed him this time it was soft and slow. It asked him to stay and knew the answer, and kept going in spite of it. Kept going until, for the second time in the last hour, Elias felt breathless, and stepped back.

“Don’t make it eight bloody months this time,” he said, quietly.

Peter smiled.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you'd like to come yell at/with me about The Magnus Archives and other nonsense, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/slamncram)!


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